


Indefinitely Broken

by try_again_love



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Amy Santiago Loves Jake Peralta, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Drowning, Episode: s04e01-03 Coral Palms Parts 1-3, Established Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Greg Stickney, Heavy Angst, Hot Tub, Hurt Jake Peralta, Hurt/Comfort, Jake Peralta Loves Amy Santiago, Jake Peralta Needs a Hug, Jake Peralta is Bad at Feelings, Larry Sherbert, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Suicide Attempt, Whump, Witness Protection, nobody dies i promise, witsec
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/try_again_love/pseuds/try_again_love
Summary: Jake Peralta is having a Rough Time™ in Florida. The squad will do everything in their power to get him through it. Will they succeed? Spoiler Alert: Of course they will, mostly because I am incapable of writing sad endings without spiraling.Trigger Warnings will be on each chapter, but if suicide/suicide attempts trigger you, it's probably for the best if you just don't read this fic since that is, you know, the entire premise. Read responsibly, I don't want to hurt you.EDIT: I'm a spacehead and trigger warnings are     n o t     on each individual chapter because I'm me, but the notice above pretty much covers it and there is a slightly more detailed trigger warning on Chapter 1. Basically, the trigger warning is for a suicide/suicide attempt that does have a pretty detailed description of it but no blood or gore, and nobody actually dies. I can't write major character deaths because I love these guys too much.
Relationships: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago, Ray Holt & Jake Peralta, The Brooklyn Nine-Nine Squad & Jake Peralta
Comments: 22
Kudos: 80





	1. A Rock in a Hot Tub

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those of you who've read my other big work, I Love You and I'm Sorry, I'm doing another angsty Jake Peralta suicide attempt fic, but this one's going to be a little different. 
> 
> For those of you who haven't read it, read it. I mean, I can't hold it against you if you don't, but I'm very proud of it. Plus, if you were interested enough to click on this fic, I Love You and I'm Sorry is almost definitely your type of shit too. If you want more B99 content that might be a good place to look ('tis why I wrote it, after all).
> 
> Also, if there are any inaccuracies, medical or otherwise, please just ignore them, I tried very hard. Whatever is written there is based on research that I did and anecdotal things I found. Plus, it's fiction, it doesn't have to be perfectly factual- though I did try, at least for this chapter.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: suicide attempt (no blood or gore), drowning (nobody actually dies)

"I'm sorry, but it looks like Larry and Greg will be in Florida indefinitely."

He felt the phantom sensation of a knife straight through his heart. Sure, indefinitely didn't mean forever, but it might as well have with the way the Figgis investigation was going. This was it. He was never going home. Jake had never felt this much pain in his life.

He tried to hide the ache when he spoke to Holt after the marshall's departure. The captain didn't need to know. Frankly, Jake didn't want him to. 

"So, we're in Florida indefinitely. You okay?"

Putting all of his effort into sounding cheerful, he answered, "I squirt-anly am."

_Seriously dude, 'squirt-anly'?_

He tried to play it off. 

"Poor choice of words, but the sentiment remains."

Holt stared skeptically at him. Wow, he was real bad at pretending to be fine.

"Seriously, it's the job. It keeps me focused."

Holt was completely inscrutable. "Well, good. I'm glad to hear it."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I got to drive this Bee-otch back to work," Jake said, eager to escape the conversation.

Briefly, they exchanged a few more words, and with that, Holt was abandoned, baffled and alone, in the parking lot. 

* * *

Something was off with Peralta. He couldn't quite put his finger on what, but Raymond was certain of it. The detective often used words and phrases foreign to him, but something about his tone was different.

Sighing, he got back in his car and drove to work. 

Still, he couldn't shake the thoughts of Jacob. It was strange, the man seemed almost... stiff. That was it. It was the split second of hesitation before he said 'squirt-anly.' It was the inflection, the diction, it was the accent on the first syllable. The talk of his job was out of place too. Since when did Jake Peralta, king of mocking his superiors, take advice from them? The only thing he could've said that would have made the situation more urgent was "you were right." (Of course, had he said that, Holt would have followed him home immediately.) That settled it. He had to go check on Peralta. 

He clocked out 10 minutes early, something he normally wouldn't even have considered, and drove home. 

Most of Peralta's depressive episodes took place in the hot tub, so naturally, it was the first place he thought to look.

And it's a good thing he did. 

* * *

Jake thought by now that the agony would've at least somewhat subsided, but it was still sharp in his chest. 

He was on his second run-through of Failure to Launch when something in him just gave in. He threw the remote at the TV and watched it clatter to the ground. The final straw was broken.

The plan had been forming in his mind for months now. At first, he'd tried to stave it off, but as time passed, he let it come closer and closer, waiting for the right time to execute it. Now, he couldn't stand another minute. All he wanted was for it to end. 

Among the last things he remembered was the weight of the rocks on top of him as he thrashed around, his body's desperate last attempt at saving him. Suddenly, he was overcome by an eerie sense of calm. His limbs relaxed and he went still, having spent his last ounces of strength. He couldn't help but think it was almost peaceful, watching the world go black. 

* * *

Holt peered over the top of their shared fence, watching the hot tub. At first glance, the tub appeared empty, but he could just make out the top of a rock breaking the surface of the water. _Why would Peralta put a rock in a hot tub?_ No answer seemed apparent, so he decided to investigate. 

As he got closer, a few more rocks became visible, and his befuddlement only increased. It was a second before he saw it that it occurred to him what had happened. His tentative creep morphed into an open sprint as he rushed to save Peralta. 

He dragged his detective out of the water, praying to a God he didn't even believe in to let Peralta be okay. 


	2. Above Water

Each cough wracked his body as water shot out of him. His arms, completely disoriented, grasped pathetically at his stomach, trying to relieve the shooting pain. His insides were on fire, but his skin was like ice. Just when he thought his lungs were going to give out, Jake Peralta tasted sweet, sweet oxygen. He collapsed in the grass, breathing weakly. His body shook with the effort. 

He felt himself floating upwards. That was what confirmed in his head that he was dying. He waited for his physical form to be absorbed into nothingness. Instead, he noticed the warm figure against him and the muscular arms holding him up as his consciousness returned gradually to him. The next thing he knew, he was being placed gently onto a couch just as he started to open his eyes. 

Holt's eyes met his, wide and shiny, filled with uncontainable worry. Jake looked away as a wave of shame crashed over him, tossing him like a ragdoll to the ground. 

"Peralta, I'm so sorry."

Jake could do nothing but bite his lip in response. 

"Jacob, please talk to me."

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing it all to go away.

"No, I can't," he started, "I can't be here."

Holt wrapped his arms around Jake's shaking form and pulled him close. Jake couldn't stop the tears from pouring down his face.

"I want it to be over."

"I know," Holt said, "So do I."

Jake let out another sob. "It hurts," he whimpered. 

Then, in a moment of total sincerity, Holt answered sotto voce.

"I wish I could take it away."

They lay in silence on the couch. 

* * *

It had been nearly an hour when Jake spoke.

"What are we going to do now?"

Holt sat up to face the detective. "I'm not entirely certain. In what regard do you mean?"

"Well, I assume you don't want me to, you know," he paused, leaving the unspoken words hanging thick in the air, "so I guess you're going to try and fix me."

Holt shook his head. "You aren't in need of 'fixing,' Jacob. You're experiencing a lot of pain and you need help. There's nothing wrong with that. Nonetheless, you are correct in your assumption that, yes, I err strongly on the side of keeping you alive." 

Jake looked away at that.

"It is difficult to proceed because you can't discuss your problems with a friend, family member, or medical professional without disclosing your real identity to them. I will speak to the marshall and formulate a plan at our next meeting."

He looked straight into Jake's eyes, wanting to make sure his final point came through loud and clear. 

"Until then, I am not going anywhere."

He took a deep breath and spoke again, "Talk to me about it. I know you will object, but we have to start somewhere."

"There's not much to say. I have nothing here to live for," Jake sighed. 

"Larry is just a fake identity, but I don't even feel like me. Jake feels like someone else, and I'm never going to be him again. I'm no one. I'm tired. I want to be me again."

Raymond had a feeling he knew what had to happen, but he wasn't sure if he could say it. 

"Alright, let's start with this: in this house, and in this house only, your name is Jake Peralta, and I am Raymond Holt. _Captain_ Raymond Holt."

For the first time since the incident, Jake smiled, just a little bit. 

He furrowed his brows questioningly, the words sounding both foreign and familiar on his tongue, "And my favorite movie is Die Hard."


	3. I Made a Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love writing Marshall Haas. Also, Maya Rudolph is fucking superb.
> 
> Lastly, this chapter is like... all dialogue. It revolves around conversations and I didn't know how to not do that.
> 
> EDIT: oOF ya boi forgot to name this chapter :/

"Where the hell is Larry? He was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago. I staggered your entrances, it was rad. I felt so official," said the marshall.

Holt inhaled sharply. "He isn't coming."

"WHAT?"

"Let me explain-" The captain was interrupted.

"Do you even know how valuable my time is? I could've been watching Justified."

"Please, Marshall Haas-" He stopped in his tracks as the marshall's jaw dropped. 

"Wow, I really thought we were on a first-name basis, Greg. You know, this is really-"

"For the love of God, will you shut your mouth?"

He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Raymond himself was shocked at his sudden outburst, but he did feel it was somewhat justified. The marshall had been nothing but frustrating since they arrived.

"Jacob needs help. He isn't well. This," he paused, "adjustment hasn't been easy for him."

He waited for a response, but Haas just stared blankly at him. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

"He needs a therapist, someone to whom he can disclose his true identity."

"Heh?" 

Even as he recoiled at her use (or lack thereof) of the English language, Holt pressed on. 

"This is a serious matter of utmost importance."

"Oh Greg, you crack me up," she chuckled.

"I am not amused-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know WITSEC is hard, whatever, he should just be grateful he's alive."

Holt was too focused on other things to put his finger on it, but something about the way she said it made his blood boil.

"That's exactly the thing-" Every one of his efforts was put into regulating his tone of voice, but nonetheless it grew stronger by the second.

"Oh, do you have a complaint? Do you want me to transfer him? Ooh, I should send him to the Bahamas, that would be such a fun vacation!"

The subject of fun was the last straw for him. How could any of this possibly be 'fun'?

"Peralta tried to end his life." 

"Oh," said the marshall. She stared directly into Holt's eyes, not like a person who had just discovered something deeply sobering, but as though she was doing a puzzle as a form of entertainment. 

Holt found himself ignoring her behavior. It simply wasn't possible for her not to be taking this seriously now that she knew what had happened. 

"Yes, now you understand. He needs access to a medical professional immediately."

"Oh no, I can't do that."

"Why not? Can't you see that this is necessary for his wellbeing?" The captain was mere seconds away from literally shaking his fist in the air out of rage. 

"Figgis has moles everywhere. It would be so much work to find someone I can trust."

He found himself at a loss for words. After everything that Figgis had put him and Peralta through, and she had the audacity to whine about him?

Haas seemed to misinterpret his silence as confusion. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I have been burned so many times, do you know that feeling?"

He shook her off. 

"Marshall, focus. Don't you get it? If you don't get him some help as soon as possible, he might very well die anyway."

"Yeah, but here's the thing. My job is to make sure _Figgis_ doesn't kill you," she replied.

Holt blinked slowly, realization dawning on him just as Marshall Haas finished:

"Basically, it's not my problem."

"What the fuck do you mean it isn't your problem? Your job is to keep us safe, to keep him safe," Holt shouted.

"Well, sort of-"

"No! This is ridiculous. You're an incompetent, useless, dry-brained, imbecile!"

He tried to make himself regret his words, but he couldn't.

"That's it, I'm done here." 

He drove home in his own car, hands clenched around the steering wheel and an unmistakable glint of determination in his eyes.

* * *

"So, what did the marshall say?" Jacob asked from the couch. The furrow in his brow and his ever-so-slightly shaky legs did not go unnoticed.

Holt shook his head. "The marshall is a fool."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, and for just a second, the captain thought he looked a bit like his old self. "Oh? Do tell."

"She refuses to take action of any sort. Details are irrelevant."

Just like that, the smirk was gone.

"We're stuck here."

In the few seconds it took Raymond to answer, Jake sank into the couch and let his eyelids fall.

"No. Since Haas was unhelpful, I took matters into my own hands."

He shot back up, eyes wide. 

Holt answered the unasked question on his lips. 

"The squad is on their way here right now."


	4. Your Kisses Are Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reunion time :)))))))))

Jake sat on the couch, fidgeting with his hands, while Holt stood just behind the doorway making two cups of coffee. 

Jake opened his mouth and then shut it a few times before just blurting out, "Do you think she still misses me?"

Holt halted his task to turn and look him in the eye, trying to figure out what was going on in his brain. 

"Assuming you mean Santiago," he paused and Jake nodded, "Of course she does. I only wish you heard her on the phone when I called. Once she heard my name, the first words out of her mouth were about you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Why is this even a concern that you have?"

Jake's gaze fell to the floor. "It's just, what if we see each other and she's changed or I've changed and we don't," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "work anymore?"

Having turned back to his coffee, Peralta couldn't see the ever-so-slight smirk that crossed his face as he answered: "Trust me, your worry is completely unfounded in reality. You and Santiago will be fine."

The detective seemed to relax a little bit, but he was still oblivious to the memories running through Holt's mind. He thought about the nervousness and the hope in her voice as she'd asked about her partner, the heavy silence on the other end of the line when he'd said that Peralta was having a difficult time, and the billions of other times beyond that phone call, before they'd even said it to each other, that it was obvious to anyone with half a brain cell how in love they were. He thought about all these things and he wondered how Peralta could possibly _not know_ how much he was loved. 

"Does she know about-" Jake stopped abruptly, "the thing that I, that happened... the hot tub?" 

Holt tried hard to conceal his small flinches at each attempt Peralta made to name the terrible incident that had taken place. 

"All I told her is that you aren't faring especially well, and I believe she knows both of us well enough to sense that something is 'up,' per se, but she doesn't have any details. I suspect she will have told the squad as well."

He returned to the couch, coffees in hand, and placed them both on the table before turning to look Peralta in the eye. 

"It is up to you to tell them. I recommend that you at least make Santiago aware."

Jake bit his lip, but then said, "Yeah, I'll tell them."

* * *

Jake's whole body shook with a mixture of anticipation and an ungodly amount of both caffeine and sugar. 

"What time is she coming again?"

"Peralta," Holt started, "I've told you this three times already. How could you have possibly forgotten?"

When Jake turned his head to face him, his eyes were disturbingly wide and bloodshot. Holt was taken aback by the sight of him.

Still, he said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

Holt sighed. "It is understandable that your focus is impaired right now. Santiago will arrive in exactly three minutes, at 12:37 PM. I've staggered the rest of the squad's entrances. Boyle insisted on being right after Santiago, so he will be here at 1:02 PM, Jeffords will follow shortly after at 1:19 PM, Gina wanted to be here as well, so Diaz will assist in sneaking her in at approximately 1:40 PM, and Diaz will enter herself at 1:58 PM. I assumed it was best to ask Hitchcock and Scully to remain in New York."

"Yeah, we probably dodged a bullet there."

The next three minutes were the longest of Jake's entire life. His stomach churned inside him, the far-too-many coffees he'd drank threatening to come back up, even as his heart pounded with excitement. 

And then the doorbell rang. 

He stood up, and for a split second, he wasn't sure whether to run to the toilet or to the door- he decided on the latter- and he opened it. 

Amy stepped inside and shut it behind her, and then, though it was hard to tell exactly how it happened, they were in each others' arms. It was around then that Holt disappeared to an unknown location, most likely the guest bedroom.

"Oh God, I've been so worried about you. I missed you and," she stopped abruptly, "I love you, _so much._ " 

"I love you so much too, I, I-" tears blocked the words in his throat as he welled up. 

"Oh, babe. Are you okay? The captain told me you were having a hard time," she trailed off. She'd wanted to add that she knew there was more to it than that, but she opted to give him a chance to tell her on his own first. 

He looked down at the floor, and then at her, and then back down again, starting words without finishing them. 

He let out a long breath, "No, I'm not." He opened his mouth as if to say more, but shut it again. 

"Jake, what happened?" Amy asked, unadulterated worry that she'd been (somewhat) holding back finally flooding her voice.

He was full-on crying now. 

"I, um, I tried to-" involuntarily, his jaw snapped shut, but he didn't need to finish the sentence. One look at Amy and it was obvious she knew. His face grew hot, and he could feel the red shame spreading across his cheeks like some kind of plague. He turned away, focusing all his attention on a crack in the floorboards. 

Even as a thousand words filled his brain, he couldn't speak. More than anything, he wanted to apologize. He wanted to say he was sorry, to tell her that he wished that she hadn't gotten stuck with someone as horrifically broken and fucked up as him. But his mouth was filled with cotton, and he choked. 

For a few moments, there was no reaction from her. In a moment of sheer panic, a small sound came up from his throat.

Amy jumped into action. In a heartbeat, her arms were around him, fingers running through his hair. 

"It's gonna be okay. I've got you. I love you," she whispered. 

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice so tiny she could barely hear him.

She shook her head, surprised. "You don't have to be sorry." She took a deep breath before adding, "Do you think you could tell me why?"

He stayed silent for a minute, gathering his courage. 

"I couldn't take it anymore, being stuck here for who knows how long because the feds are useless, without you and the squad, knowing that Figgis could show up at any second. I just couldn't shake the thought that I was going to die here, alone, and it was too much."

"I thought I was never going to see you again," he breathed. 

She planted a kiss on his cheek. 

"We're going to get you out of here, and you're going to get through this."

For the first time in a long time, he let himself be held. As he sank into her embrace, he found himself believing that- maybe- it was going to be okay. 


	5. Soft and Warm (we all need it sometimes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters may be kind of short, but at least I can update a bit faster. The reason it's been slower is because I've been working on requests from my request book in between chapters of this.  
> Thanks for understanding yall :)

As promised, Boyle knocked on the back door at 1:02 PM exactly. Holt had opted to send him the long way around, knowing that he wouldn't be able to contain his excitement no matter how hard he tried not to draw attention to himself. 

"Do you want me to let you talk to him alone?" Amy asked.

Jake considered for a moment before answering. "Yeah, that'd be great. It's about to get super emotional up in here," he joked with none of his usual flair. 

In a flash, she was gone. He approached the back door, taking a deep breath, plastering on a smile, and then opening it. 

"Hi, Boyle." His voice was weak. 

"Jakey, I'm so excited to see you!" He pulled Jake into a tight hug, but after only a few seconds, he pulled away abruptly.

"Wait a minute, you sound fake happy. Why are you fake happy? Is it me? Did you find a new best friend here? Have I been replaced?" He'd already reached level 5 of the 10 degree Charles Crying Scale. 

"No, no, of course not," Jake snorted with a sort of cynical laughter, "God, no. I'm just not excited for the conversation we're about to have."

Charles dropped back down to a 3 on the CCS as his focus returned.

"What's going on? Amy mentioned that something seemed weird with you two after the phone call," he trailed off. Jake could already tell that, just like Amy (and probably the entire squad), he knew more than he was giving away. 

"About that," he took a deep breath, trying to stop his own eyes from tearing up, "She was right. Stuff's been messed up."

He stopped, not sure where to go next. 

"You have no idea how much I missed you, Boyle." 

Charles seemed to remember the unfinished hug, practically jumping into Jake's arms. 

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, even as Jake watched his curiosity tear him apart. 

Jake sighed, "I want to, I just," he hesitated, "I don't know how."

"I will love you no matter what."

And then Jake did start crying, for realz. 

"Oh no! What's wrong? Was it something I said?" Charles began spiraling for a second time.

"No, Boyle, you're-" he broke down midsentence, sobbing against Charles' shoulder. 

After he recomposed himself, he finished. 

"You're too nice to me. You would do anything for me, even if it hurts you."

"Of course I would! You're worth it, and I know you'd do the same for me," Charles replied simply, as if this was common sense. 

"No! You don't understand, I," his voice cracked, "I was about to do something that would've hurt you, a lot, and if Holt hadn't found me..." He shuddered.

Charles stared gently at him, the question in his eyes. 

"I tried to-" he stopped again, just like he had with Amy. He hoped desperately that Charles would do what she did, that he would get it and he wouldn't have to finish saying it. 

But of course, he was ever oblivious, the worry in his eyes making it all the worse. 

"You tried to what, Jakey?"

He winced audibly, "I tried to, um, die." He couldn't bring himself to call it a suicide attempt, or to say that he tried to kill himself, even if that was exactly what had happened. That would've made it real. Jake didn't want it to be real. 

"What? No!" Charles yelled. Jake pulled out of the hug, doing anything he could with his hands to avoid looking at him.

"I'm so sorry," he said, hanging his head in shame. 

Then, Charles went from 0 to 100. Whatever he was doing wasn't even on the CCS. Jake wasn't even sure that 'crying' was strong enough a term to describe it. In the first few seconds, it only amplified Jake's remorse. For a horrible moment, he thought that Charles would never forgive him for this, but then a pair of shaking hands grabbed ahold of his shirt fabric and dragged him back across the couch. 

"Thank goodness you're here," Charles cried. 

Then, quieter, he added, "Gosh, this is the only thing I've ever been happy you failed at."

Jake burst into tears all over again.

Charles choked out words in between sobs. "No, no, no. Please don't cry, I can do that for the both of us."

He really did try, but he just couldn't stop. It was as if all the feelings he'd had since he got to this godawful place had finally built up enough pressure to take down the dam and he couldn't put it back up.

"You didn't do anything to hurt me, I just wish that you weren't hurting."

He still didn't have it in him to answer.

"We're gonna make it better, Jakey."

"I really am sorry, Charles," he whispered finally, and this time, Boyle did seem to understand.

"You don't have to be strong right now. You can just feel things, you know, cathart your heart out. Let us take care of you."

So he did. At last, Jake Peralta let himself be weak.


	6. Teddy Bear, Ter-Bear, what's the difference?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Terry Time™

Terry came in through the side door. Holt had already given him the passcode. As soon as he walked in, Charles nodded at Jake and then disappeared.

"Hey, Sarge. How are you doing?" Jake said awkwardly.

Terry raised an eyebrow. "I missed you a lot, but I'm fine. But I'm not going to let you deflect by asking me questions. What happened?"

Jake recoiled, taken aback. "Oh, we're getting right into it. Cool, cool, cool, cool, coolcoolcoolcoolcoolcool, no doubt, no doubt." 

"Jake," Terry said, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He got the message: Terry wasn't moving a muscle until he got an answer. Logically, he understood it. He hadn't always been the greatest at being vulnerable, so the sergeant came in on the offensive, ready to fight to make sure that Jake didn't repress this too.

There was just one problem. Jake's brain wasn't logical.

Even though he knew that the Sarge meant no harm, his brain was suddenly screaming at him that if he took too long to answer, or Terry didn't like what he said, Jake would be attacked. It didn't make any sense, but that didn't matter. His new anxiety brain didn't give two shits about logic. 

His breaths began to grow quicker and shallower, and soon, his lungs just couldn't keep up. His brain managed to produce exactly one last coherent thought before he completely fell apart. 

_I'm having a panic attack in front of the Sarge. Shit._

As if someone had wrapped a rope tightly around him and pulled on it, Jake's chest constricted and the speed of his breathing reached levels he didn't even know were possible. His head spun, and he was crying, and maybe also screaming, and everything was happening so fast. 

Then a hand pressed down on his shoulder. This was it. Terry had finally had enough. Jake flinched away from him and his arms came up, trying to shield himself. 

A voice cut through the infinite layers of panic blocking his brain. It was shaky, like he imagined his would be if he could speak. Whoever was talking to him was terribly worried. 

"Jake, please breathe. It's Terry. I'm not going to hurt you."

At first, he just felt guilty. How could he have thought that Terry, Ter-bear, the ridiculously jacked human stuffed animal would ever hurt him? He spiraled even further for a few seconds, but then the hand was back on his shoulder, and this time it wasn't the end of the world. He forced himself to concentrate on the warmth and the pressure of the hand, and through the contact, the logic seemed to seep back into him. 

"Fuck, Terry, I'm sorry," he gasped. 

Now, instead of the rope that had been there before, there were gentle arms around him.

"I'm the one that should be sorry, I didn't mean to freak you out. I just wanted to make sure you actually talked to someone about this. You know, instead of repressing the crap out of it." 

Jake sighed frustratedly. "You're the fourth person I've had this conversation with and it still isn't any easier."

"What conversation?" Terry asked, much softer this time. 

"I kinda sorta tried to commit suicide." He laughed nervously. If he added humor to the words, he didn't have to think about how depressing they were. In fact, he didn't have to think about the words at all. All he had to do was focus on trying to make them funny. At least he could say them now.

Huh, maybe it did get a little bit easier.

"What?"

"Oh, you know, I just got super depressed because I thought I was going to die alone here and I had a fake identity so I lost all concept of who I actually am as a person." Tears formed in Jake's eyes. This was the first time he'd put words to it that made actual sense. Just like he'd feared, it made it all real. His breathing started to quicken, and for a moment he thought he was going to lapse into panic again. Before it could happen, he choked out. "It was awful."

"Oh my God, Jake." Terry couldn't seem to find the words for his thoughts. 

"What can I do to help you?"

He bit his lip, still crying. "I don't know," he whispered. 

Even softer, he added. "And I missed you guys so much." 

"I missed you too." 

Terry closed his eyes before pulling out of the hug. 

"I'm not really sure what to tell you, but," he paused, "just promise me you'll let us help you."

Jake nodded, "I promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Jake and Dad!Holt dynamic but I feel like we all forget about Jake and Dad!Terry too so I had fun with this


	7. Gina Linetti Spaghetti Confetti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gina Linetti Spaghetti Confetti
> 
> (sorry y'all, it's crackhead hour)

Most people would ask why Gina came up through the basement instead of using one of the many doors. Jake's question was how Rosa got her into the basement in the first place. Regardless, she was here. 

Gina Linetti was really here. 

At the sight of her, Jake's shoulders sagged with relief. Obviously, it was great to see everyone on the squad, and the relationship he had with each of them was unique, but the thing about Gina was that she came naturally to him. They'd known each other since before they'd started forming conscious memories. As far as he could think back, she'd been there. Gina was now, Gina was then, Gina was the future, Gina was time itself. Gina was everything. (He was pretty sure he'd actually heard her say that at some point, but the hell if he remembers.) Not once had he spared a second thought on how to act around her, he just knew, and in the same way, she knew him. 

He still had no idea how to start this conversation, or what to say, but he did know they'd figure it out, and that she'd be there all the same. 

"I know," she said, and for a moment he wondered if he'd been talking out loud. 

"About what happened," she added, "the hot tub incident."

He cringed. "How?"

"I texted Charles, he told me everything. Then he apologized profusely for breaking your trust and cried a whole lot. I didn't see his face but there were a whole lot of emojis, so I assumed."

"Yep, that tracks." 

Jake slumped over at exactly the moment she closed the gap between them, resulting in him falling perfectly into her arms. She let him absorb her comfort for a few moments, just to remind him that she wasn't going anywhere. Once she was sure he knew, she let go and took him over to the couch. This was clearly a sitting-down kinda talk. 

She reached down and gave him a gentle forehead kiss, and he absolutely melted. 

"Just know that if you die, I'll bitch slap you so hard you'll come straight back to life, got it?"

"I love you, Gines," he whispered. 

"Yeah, you do."

She rolled her eyes.

"I love you too, girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually so short what  
> but like it makes sense
> 
> also next chapter is rosa... and then it's back to *gasp* actual plot


	8. Don't You Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all y'all who have waited so patiently for this update! Your compassion, on this fic and all of my others has been wonderful. Enjoy your serotonin rush, fresh out of the oven :)

"Thanks, Gina." 

Jake leaned into her chest, finally letting his full weight rest on someone else. Against his will, his eyelids slipped closed, his brain finally demanding a break from the incredibly exhausting activity that was talking to all of your friends for the first time after your attempted suicide. Of course, Gina didn't object. She was Gina. She'd let it happen and then pretend to complain about it when he woke up, he knew she would. 

He awoke to a soft thump, the sound of boots on brick.

"That's my cue, boo." Gina pushed him off of her and stalked off, presumably to join the rest of the squad.

"Huh?" 

Jake looked up just in time to see Rosa ducking out of the fireplace.

"How did you get here?"

She smirked. "It was simple. After I got Gina in, I climbed the fence, jumped, grabbed the edge of your roof, hauled myself up, army crawled across to the chimney, and made my way down here."

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes. "Of course you did." 

Rosa slipped into the spot on the couch where Gina had previously been. 

"So," she grimaced, "talk."

"Nobody's told you yet?" 

She shook her head, "Even if I knew, I would still make you tell me." 

"But you hate talking. Why?" 

"It's important, to make you feel better or whatever." She shrugged awkwardly. 

Jake took a deep breath, preparing himself to speak. And then he didn't. 

"Hey, Jake."

He blinked, "Right, yeah, sorry. I tried to kill myself."

Rosa's eyes flashed with anger, and he was suddenly overcome with panic. 

"You what?"

He pressed himself into the couch, trying to disappear. 

"I'm sorry, Rosa-"

"Shut up," she said, and before he could argue, he was stunned by her arms around him.

"You don't do that, okay? You don't _fucking_ do that. You pull that shit, you _leave_ , and I will drag you from your grave and kill you again."

Slowly, his shoulders dropped from his ears back into their normal position. 

"Got it?" she whispered. 

He nodded, an almost imperceptible smile creeping up his cheeks. "Yeah, I got it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i CAN'T believe i used to post my fics on a regular schedule, lmao imagine


	9. Face It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for waiting! I'm so done with my stupid chaotic life, I just want to freeze time and write fanfiction. 
> 
> ALSO, HEADS UP (TRIGGER WARNING): SHIT'S ABOUT TO GET VIOLENT. I HAVEN'T DECIDED HOW VIOLENT YET BUT IT'S GONNA BE ANGSTY THAT'S FOR SURE. 
> 
> edit: yeah it isn't that violent but it took a different turn than I expected so TRIGGER WARNING for suicidal thoughts/ideation as well as mild injuries (not self-inflicted) 
> 
> *grAmMAr DoEsn'T Exist In MY CHapTEr NoTeS* *wHHyYyYYYyYYYYyYyyYYyyyYYYYyyyYyyyYYyyyYYYYY*

"We can't possibly keep this up for long," Amy said, "This many of us in one house is far too conspicuous."

The seven of them were sitting in the living room, anxiously discussing their circumstances. Jake was notably silent. 

"We're going to have to take Figgis down, and we're going to have to do it quickly," the captain replied. 

Charles fidgeted in his seat, brows furrowed. "How are we going to do it?" 

"Yeah, the NYPD has been tracking this bastard for years. How are we supposed to-" 

Rosa was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Nobody made a sound. They waited for whoever was at the door to realize they weren't getting an answer and walk away, but instead, another knock followed, this one more impatient than the last. 

"I'll go," Holt whispered. He walked slowly to the door, each step carefully defined. He reached out a hand, but before he could touch the knob, it began to rattle. He was started by a fresh rapping on the door. 

He had no choice.

Before he did it, he glanced back to the living room, where previously, the squad had been scattered. Now, they occupied just one couch, surrounding Jake, almost completely obscuring him from view. 

Holt turned back to the door with a shadow of a smile. 

"How may I help you?"

In front of him stood a man with grey hair and stone-grey eyes, his lips twisted into a threatening grin. He pushed past Holt and strode directly into the living room, where his eyes immediately locked onto Jake.

"I'm here to talk to you about a problem with your insurance. Mind coming over here, Larry?" 

_If I go, he might kill me. If I don't, I might blow what little cover we have left and get in major legal trouble._

_Shit,_ Jake thought as he stood up and made his way over to the man with the cold eyes. He did his best to conceal the tremor in his hands, but someone in the room was bound to see it. (It was Charles. He had to bite his tongue to keep from bursting into tears.)

He'd barely made it within four feet of the man when a hand grabbed his shoulder. He didn't even have to look to know there was a gun behind him, he'd heard the sound of it brushing on fabric as Figgis whipped it out _(title of his sextape,_ Jake thought grimly). 

"That's why I'm here. I think you're gonna be needing a life insurance check real soon." Figgis chuckled at his own joke. "You're all cops, you know the drill. Nobody move or I'll shoot," he mocked. 

Slowly, Amy stepped to the right, her hands up. "Don't do anything rash, Figgis." 

"So, you've heard of me." He let out a sound almost like a giggle.

"Of course we have, every police officer in the country knows who you are." 

"No shit, Sherlock. I'm a legend." 

"I wouldn't say you're a legend. Infamous would be the word I'd use." She tried to continue, but Figgis held up a hand. Without taking his eyes off her, he pointed to her left, where Terry froze, obviously trying to sneak behind him. 

"Tsk, tsk. You should know better than that. Don't you think anyone's ever tried to distract me before?" He let his hand fall to his side once again, using his other to jam the gun into Jake's back.

Jake nearly fell to his knees, only held up by Figgis' hand on his shoulder. He bit his lip, trying to stop a sound from coming out. 

Figgis smiled. "Alright then, is that all?" Nobody moved a muscle. Slowly, Figgis backed out of the house, dragging Jake with him. At last, he reached a black van that was parked out front. He threw Jake into the open trunk and slammed it shut, but not before a series of cracks and a stifled scream broke the deafening silence. 

* * *

Jake didn't open his eyes. It wasn't necessarily that he couldn't, he just didn't want to. In some weird, fucked-up way, this was a break. A resting point before whatever was about to come. The stabbing pain in the side of his chest told him he needed it. He breathed slowly and cautiously; it hurt worse if he let it get out of control. He was a little surprised at how easy it was to stay relaxed. Talking to his closest friends, now that was too scary, but being abducted by a man, literally called "The Butcher" because he tortured and killed tons of people, who held a distinct grudge against him? Pfft, just his average Tuesday. 

When the trunk popped open again, he found himself feeling annoyed. He'd kind of been enjoying his- he guessed- 15 minutes of peace.

Of course, the fear came rushing back as soon as Figgis' gun resumed its place against Jake's head. 

He staggered to his feet as best he could without aggravating his ribs. The next thing he knew, Figgis was leading him into a building, Marlowe Auto Insurance. _Figgis slipped up. He left them a clue._

Jake must've stopped to look at the building because Figgis was prodding him forward with the gun. He came to a staircase, each step getting harder to see as he descended. By the time he got to what he assumed was the basement, it was pitch dark. 

His eyes had almost adjusted when the light flickered on, revealing a room with nothing but a chair and a lightbulb in it. Figgis motioned towards the chair, and Jake sat. He noticed a coil of rope in Figgis' hand and wondered when it had gotten there. He didn't have too long to think about it. The rope was being wrapped around him before long, just tight enough to press painfully against his ribs if he breathed too hard. 

He supposed he should be relieved, it could be worse. Ironically enough, he'd just finished this thought when Figgis yanked the rope as tight as it would go before tying it off. Jake barely knew what was happening before his side went up in flames. He made some sort of pained grunt as tears sprang to his eyes. 

By the time his vision had refocused, Figgis was pacing around in front of him. 

"God, I've been waiting for this moment so long I don't even know what I want to do with you. I wonder how your squad is doing, especially that bitch. What's her name, Amy?" Jake felt his face move almost against his will. 

_If looks could kill, this bastard would be dead._

"Got it right, huh? Anyways, I was just thinking. Her whole world must have gone..." he tipped the chair in such a way that Jake almost thought he could regain his balance, "...sideways," he finished just as Jake hit the ground. Figgis chuckled at his own sick joke.

Jake gasped, and then immediately regretted it, but he couldn't stop. He wasn't getting enough air, but it hurt to breathe. His chest tightened. Figgis waited for him to regain control before continuing. Jake wondered if some part of him felt bad about what he was doing. 

More likely, he wanted Jake to experience every second of this as vividly as he could. That wasn't possible when he could barely focus on his own breathing. 

"Which do you think would be worse for you: dying alone or watching your squad and captain die right before I kill you? Oh, I know. The worst thing would be if I gave you the choice." 

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Okay, obviously, I pick the one that doesn't involve all my friends dying." 

"No, that's not what I had in mind," Figgis answered, a threatening smile forming wrinkles around his silver eyes. He grabbed the back of Jake's chair and, as gently as a charging bull, stood it upright. In a slightly more careful manner, he freed one of Jake's arms from his bonds and pressed a gun into his hand.

Jake's blood turned to ice in his veins. 

"Why should I have all the fun? You could end your own misery right now. I heard you were already considering it."

"How did you know about that?" 

Figgis laughed. "C'mon Peralta, don't be stupid. I know everything." He grinned. "I've been watching you since I heard somebody was lying about having a job at Dan's World of ATVs." 

Jake stared down at the gun in his hand. 

"Go on, do it. You know you want to." 

His hand began to shake. 

"This shouldn't be a hard decision. Think about it logically; Amy will never have to worry about you again. She's already wasted so much of her time thinking about you," he hissed, spitting the last word like something disgusting on his tongue. 

He started to cry.

"I bet once you pull the trigger, your squad's crime stats will shot way up. Your precinct will be the best in New York. That was Holt's dream, wasn't it?" 

Jake pressed the gun to his forehead. 

Figgis cackled. "Man, this was too easy. You're so fucked up. Seriously," he said, hardly able to contain his laughter, "you're a freak of nature."

Slowly, hesitantly, Jake pressed down. 

_"You pull that shit, you **leave** , and I will drag you from your grave and kill you again."_

"SHUT UP!"

Before the trigger could pop into place, Jake whipped the gun around, aiming straight for Figgis' chest. The room filled with a deafening boom. 

Well, actually, it was more of a pathetic clank.

Figgis laughed again, downright hysterical.

"Damn, Peralta," he choked out, "Did you really think I'm that much of an idiot? That I'm stupid enough to give a captive a loaded gun? Get ready, asshole, now you're gonna pay." He brandished another gun and fired it without a moment's hesitation. 

In slow motion, Jake watched Rosa appear behind him, roundhouse kicking him in the back of the head. He watched the gun flash and tilt downward simultaneously, watched a bullet that should have been headed straight for his face graze his leg instead. 

He let out a hiss of pain and time sped up again. His breathing followed, lungs contracting faster and faster. 

_I can't do this. I'm going to die. I almost died. I can't breathe._

"Jake!"

Carefully, Amy Santiago untied him from the chair. 

"Oh God, are you hurt?" 

He opened his mouth to tell her about his broken ribs, but all the came out was a strangled, "I can't!"

His wheezing continued to increase in speed, breaths coming faster still. 

She ran a hand along his chest, noting the spot where he winced. Then, she pulled him into a hug, doing her best to avoid it. 

"You're okay," Amy said, "You're safe, Figgis is gone, and we're here now." 

As soon as he reached a point where he could speak again, Jake told her what had happened in between shaky breaths. 

Now, the both of them were crying. 

"Even if the gun was empty, I'm glad you didn't do it," she whispered, "And I love you so much." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a picture on the internet of the actor who plays Figgis and his eyes are actually silver-looking and it was so striking, so as y'all can see I had fun with that
> 
> Also, I'd be lying if I told you I proofread this so please let me know if you spot a typo


End file.
